


trouble just erodes us in the rain

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Plotless Fluff, larry stylinson - Freeform, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry ties him down with countless indissoluble knots and a nice bow on top, with several silken ribbons that aren’t second to steel chains, and Louis can’t bring himself to mind. (Or in which fluff ensues.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	trouble just erodes us in the rain

**Author's Note:**

> wellll prompt again but what else is new (: this is plotless fluff and i really liked writing it so yeah uhm
> 
> prompt: harry and louis move into their apartment and eat take out chinese food using cardboard boxes for the table. then just random little things that go on in their apartment as time goes on. not big events, just little things, like them bringing eachother tea, buying a cat, or making eachother breakfast, then doing eachothers ties, them putting scarves and hats on eachother, and maybe one day harry goes out in the cold without a jacket and he comes back really cold and lou warms him up.
> 
> disclaimer: bluh

“So this is it then.” Harry is sitting crossed-legged on the floor, back against a pile of cardboard boxes filled with god knows what and other crap. He has exhausted lines like patterns on the skin of his face, but they’re lovely like the creases by his eyes when he smiles. “Home, now.”

Louis bites his lip because he can’t help it, like the sound of home in the air is some kind of laughing gas on its own. He traces designs on Harry’s jeans, likes how the fabric feels rough against his fingertips.

“Lying in the litter, in the cardboard boxes where you make them stay,” he sings.

Harry laughs. “We’ve just moved in the flat and you’re singing a song about the homeless.”

“In the cardboard – I’m hungry.”

“I’m not doing the dishes.” Harry eyes the mountain of stuff behind him. “If there are dishes in there somewhere.”

Louis jumps up and tries to pull Harry along, but just ends up falling on his lap in the process. “Takeout, dear Harold. Takeout is always the answer.” And he pecks his nose and the corner of his mouth and succeeds in standing up, this time.

When Harry reaches the front door, Louis is already there, coat on. He’s holding Harry’s in front of him, like a gentleman, and wraps a scarf around the taller boy’s neck before pulling on the edges, pulling him down to eye-level, and licking him on the lips.

Harry grins against it and goes to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist, but the shorter boy won’t have any of it and dances out of reach. “No, nope, gotta hurry! Can’t remember the last time I ate and it’s scaring me.”

There’s pouting aimed at him. “You ate two bowls of corn flakes at Zayn’s, about one hour ago.”

“I did no such thing. Now come on!” He links their fingers together tightly like the magnets that they are and draws him outside, into the cutting November wind and raindrops astray.

* * *

They sit beside a cardboard box with a messy _towels and sheets and pillows_ scrawled across it, because it’s the only one they were confident to move without breaking anything in it.

Louis probably eats a quarter of Harry’s bang bang ji on top of his own fried noodles, but it’s all okay because Harry lets him.

(Louis can’t remember a time Harry _hadn’t_ let him, isn’t even sure it ever happened, but that’s not the point.)

And it’s not even like he hasn’t had enough with his own order, it was just that he finds the name a bit funny. Because, come on, _bang bang ji_? So he eats until he feels like a stuffed teddy bear, full and warm and cosy and sleepy. What? It has been a long day, dragging their every possession – all wrapped up neatly – all over the place.

“Harry,” he mews, “Hazza, come cuddle me.” It’s supposed to be request, but it sounds like an order, and that’s okay too.

“Cuddle, Lou?” Harry smirks at him, “I thought I heard somewhere that Chinese food is crammed with aphrodisiacs.”

“That’s a load of crap. Who’d you hear that from?”

“From you, actually.”

Louis chooses to ignore that and starts pulling on Harry’s sleeve. “Take me to bed.”

There’s not a bed yet, not really. It’s just a mattress, and it’s lying about a meter away from them. But instead of telling him to drag his own ass over there, Harry picks him up and carries him and lays him down softly, because that’s just a very _Harry_ thing to do.

(Louis loves it, really.)

He curls himself around the other boy entirely, arms and legs forming circles for safekeeping, and buries his nose into the space between Harry’s neck and shoulder, where it’s warm and where curls tickle his face like they’re either mocking or loving him.

“Bang bang me, Harry,” Louis whispers, and then he falls asleep quite promptly.

* * *

Two days later, Harry brings him breakfast in bed. Or well, just tea, because Louis would mess up the clean sheets with his crumbs, but.

Louis is elated. “You found the cooker!” he crows.

“That I did,” Harry smiles, and leans for a good-morning-bad-breath kiss.

“You’re my hero.”

“It was in the box with video games.”

“How’d it get there?” (Louis most plausibly put it there.) “I’ll design you a superhero costume. Nice, tightly fit. Latex, maybe. With a few straps of artistically justified nudity.”

“You’re a doofus.”

“I shall embrace it as a compliment.”

“You’re my doofus though.”

“Don’t get al sappy on me now, Haz!” He feigns annoyance, but afterwards he does kiss him breathless, which should probably speak for its own.

He scolds Harry for putting three sugars in his own tea, because _that’s not how you drink it, you savage_ , an pretends to be cross with him until he tells him he’s sorry, and until he tells him he loves him.

* * *

Louis is young and wild and untameable, or so he likes to tell himself. Everything in his life has an edge on spontaneity, of impulse, and he doesn’t like to be tied down.

Harry, though. Harry ties him down with countless indissoluble knots and a nice bow on top, with several silken ribbons that aren’t second to steel chains, and Louis can’t bring himself to mind. In fact, he’s sure that there’s nothing that’ll ever make him feel like this, like Harry does, in all the best ways.

Where there was sharp there’s now soft, and where there was a rush to go places, a rush to be everywhere there’s now contentment in just staying, staying home.

Home with Harry, and while that’s open to several interpretations, Louis will settle for all of them at once.

* * *

The day Harry brings it home, it’s been raining.

“What is _that_?” asks Louis, curiosity mingled with slight disgust. He points to the dark and soaked heap in Harry’s arms.

“That’s Ramses,” Harry says, as if it should be obvious. He puts the heap down on the floor and Louis sees it’s actually a cat. A meagre, black cat with a bite taken out of its ear.

“It’s filthy.” Louis did just clean the floor yesterday, after all.

“Don’t judge, Lou, I know just how filthy _you_ can be,” winks Harry.

“It’s not staying.”

“ _He_ is definitely staying. Found ‘im on the streets, searching garbage for food, poor lad.”

“It’s not staying. Take it back.”

“But Lou –” and there it comes, Louis had known it would, the pleading eyes and pout “– it’s raining, and it’s cold.”

His bottom lip is shining and Louis wants to kiss it away, so he does. “Take it back tomorrow, then,” he allows, and then sucks Harry’s lip between his, traces it with his tongue, tastes it.

Harry doesn’t take Ramses back the next day, nor the day after, nor ever at all.

* * *

“Ramses, for the love of god, get off my cheese.” Louis pushes the cat off the counter. “My cheese. Mine.”

He gets back to making sandwiches and it doesn’t even take two minutes for Ramses to jump back on and have another go.

“You’re a prick of a cat, you know that?” He sighs.

“Bullying the cat again?”

Louis whips around to see Harry leaning against the doorframe, pretty much naked – really naked – and shaking his head disapprovingly. Smiling, though.

“Har- Get back to bed, you weren’t supposed to be up yet! Go to sleep!” He starts to push Harry out of the kitchen.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“I’m making you breakfast, you wanker, and you ruined the surprise.” Louis pouts.

“Oh. I can, you know, go back to sleep?”

“Please.”

So Harry goes, and when Louis brings him sandwiches on a platter and breakfast tea – he even put sugar in Harry’s, even though it’s against his principles – the younger boy is snoring obnoxiously loud.

“Stop faking and drink your tea.”

Harry peeks from under the sheets. “Can I wake up now?”

“You can and you must.”

So Harry sits up, stretches and yawns exaggeratedly, and purses his lips. “Good morning kiss.”

Louis rolls his eyes and smiles, but when he does it’s goofily and he leans in happily to peck his boyfriend on the lips.

It evolves to be more than just a peck and then to be more than just a kiss, and later Louis gives himself a mental pat on the back for putting the tray on the nightstand and not on the bed.

* * *

“You nervous?”

Louis looks up from the mirror. “What, me? Never. It’s just an award show, nothing to be nervous about. Right? It’s just an award show.”

Harry watches him fumble with the ends of his tie. “I’m nervous,” he whispers.

“Me too,” agrees Louis.

He starts buttoning his vest, but his hands are trembling – it’s just the effect stress has on him, he gets fidgety and sometimes shakes a little. It bothers him.

“C’mere,” Harry orders, and Louis goes. Fast and secure fingers pop in button after button, and after every button there’s a short kiss being pressed to his lips. When the hands reach his tie, he reaches up and grabs the lapels of Harry’s blazer and snogs him, because, well. It’s one way to release the stress.

Harry’s tongue slips between his lips while he does Louis’s tie, tickling his jaw with the ends to make him smile.

Louis curses. “Since we just dressed up nicely I suppose you don’t want to get messy right now?”

“Later, Lou, later.”

* * *

Harry’s out for groceries and Louis is lying on the couch and Ramses is lying on Louis.

“You know, I’m more of a dog person,” Louis tells him, “Never liked cats all that much. But I s’pose you’re okay.”

Ramses nuzzles up against his hand when he strokes him, scratches him behind the ears. There’s the sound of bad television shows and rain against the window panes in the background.

“M’sorry I was a twat to you in the beginning,” admits Louis eventually.

According to Ramses’ purring, he thinks it’s quite alright.

Louis hears the front door closing when a man on television is accusing his wife to have slept with his brother – which she didn’t, she slept with their notary, and Louis didn’t know what would be worse – and when Harry enters the living room, he’s dripping on the floor and shivering violently.

“It’s raining,” he explains, quite needlessly, through shattering teeth.

“Poor love, are you cold?”

“Toasty warm, actually.”

“You’re wet.”

“It’s raining,” Harry repeats, “Forgot my jacket, too.”

The older boy chuckles. “You go change and I’ll make you tea, okay?”

Harry nods and then says, “Can I have hot chocolate?” His lips are almost _blue_.

“Of course, and now off you go, before you get hypothermia and your limbs freeze off.”

The cold boy huffs and leaves, and Louis thinks Harry might blur himself out if he keeps shuddering like that.

Louis is sitting in the sofa again, with a mug of hot chocolate in his hands and one on the side table and with a duvet draped over his legs, when Harry comes back – freshly showered and cheeks tainted pink.

The older boy lifts the blanket, an invitation, and Harry crosses the room in less than a second to crawl under it and snuggle up to Louis’s warm body, curling himself around him like a weirdly adorable monkey.

“Made you hot stuff,” murmurs Louis, and he hands him the mug.

“ _You_ ’re hot stuff. And thanks.” He kisses the thanks off his lips.

Ramses comes to lie on Louis’s lap – much to Harry’s dismay (“Traitor!”), since he was so smug about the fact that the cat liked him better than he did Louis.

“ _I_ ’ll always like you best, though, isn’t that what counts?”

“Yeah, Lou,” Harry smiles, “It is.”

And it really, really is.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: lewdis
> 
> please lemme know what you think?


End file.
